Lives Entwined
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: Spangel AU. Angel is the CEO of Wolfram & Hart's LA branch, and very successful. When a new partner is hired, his life is turned upside down – for he and Spike have a history. A complicated history. Spike/Angel.


**Title:** Lives Entwined  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** Spangel (Spike/Angel)  
**Warning:** M/M, profanity, etc  
**Disclaimer:** I wish  
**Summary:** AU. Angel is the CEO of Wolfram & Hart's LA branch, and very successful. When a new partner is hired, his life is turned upside down – for he and Spike have a history.

**Lives Entwined**

**One**

_October 13, 2000_

Angel glanced up at the building in front of him, at the red brick and black slated roof. The entire wall was littered with windows, several of them decorated with posters, stickers and other personal touches. Set along the ground level were larger windows, through which Angel could see sofas, pool tables, vending machines and other games. Directly ahead of him were a set of glass doors with a 'Welcome' sign above them. With a sigh, he lifted up the piece of paper in his hand and read the scribbled address, and the name above it.

"Well, this should be interesting." He muttered under his breath. He strode towards the doors and had to jump back slightly when they swung open towards him. He hadn't been expecting that. He walked inside and was instantly met with the smell of bleach and air freshener. Cringing slightly, he walked up to the reception desk against one wall.

"Hello, may I help you?" The woman sat behind the desk smiled up at him. She was young, probably no more than 25.

"Ah, yeah. I'm looking for room 313." He told her, glancing at the number on the scrap of paper.

"Third floor, to the right." She told him, going back to her computer. Angel stood there for a moment, before he walked off. He found an elevator, but the sign pinned to the front read 'Out Of Service'. With a frustrated sigh, he headed towards a door that said 'Stairs.'

Three flights of stairs later, Angel stepped out into a littered hallway. A few doors were open, and various types of music spilled out. Young people would occasionally walk out of rooms and disappear into different rooms, none of them paying any attention to Angel as he stood in the middle of the hallway. After a moment, he grabbed the collar of a young man who strode past him.

"Hey!" He whined, twisting out of Angel's grasp. "What the hell?"

"Room 313. Where?" He said sharply. The guy shrugged his shoulders to settle his jacket back in place, then ran a hand through his untidy dark hair.

"Furthest on the right." He pointed down the hall. Angel nodded and turned, walking away. As he approached the end of the hall, he became aware that the area smelt like beer and cigarettes. Wincing at the smell, he stopped in front of the door with the number '313' plastered to the front. The door was painted black, unlike all the others, and there was a Sex Pistols poster taped to the front. Sighing, Angel lifted a hand and knocked on the door.

There was a muffled curse from the other side of the door, and a crashing sound. Then the handle turned, and the door was flung open. Angel got his first glimpse of the young man who occupied the room – peroxide blonde hair, slicked back, dark eyebrows over blue eyes, defined cheekbones. Dressed in a Sex Pistols t-shirt and dark red long-sleeved button-up shirt over the top, tight black jeans tucked into black leather boots that reached mid-calf. A long black leather coat hung up on the wall just inside the room.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" British accent – English, to be specific. Angel sighed, glanced at the name on the scrap of paper, and shoved it into his pocket.

"Angel Reilly. Your new tutor."

_October 12, 2010_

Angel strode into his office, straightening out his tie as he pushed open the door. He walked straight to his huge desk and sat down behind it, checking the mail that had been left on the surface. Nothing interesting, and half of it went straight in the bin. He looked up as there was a knock at the door, and his secretary poked her head into the room.

"Boss? Wesley needs to see you in his office."

"Thanks, Harmony." He got up and left the office. Whenever Wesley called to see him, it was usually important. He walked down to Wesley's department and knocked on the office door. When Wesley called out for him to enter, he pushed open the door, and stepped inside. He was surprised to see the other three members of their little team – Charles Gunn, their best lawyer, Winifred 'Fred' Burkle, the head of their science department, and Lorne, the head of the entertainment department. Angel had never understood why a law firm needed a science department or an entertainment department, but he'd learnt to just take things as they came these days.

"Ah, Angel. Good." Wes smiled.

"What is it, Wes? Something urgent?" He asked, hooking his thumbs into his belt as he stood in front of Wes's desk.

"Not exactly." He held out a file. "I discovered this on my desk this morning. I think you should take a look at it." Angel took the file and opened it. He scanned through the first page and frowned. "I did some research, and apparently it is tradition for the CEO of a Wolfram and Hart branch to have a partner – the 'gunslinger', if you like. You sit back and do all the legal work and give orders, and your partner goes out and does the leg work, threatens sources, collects information, that sort of thing."

"So why don't I have one?" Angel asked, closing the file. "And why was this delivered to you and not me?" Wes glanced guiltily at the others, who stared down at their shoes. "Okay, what's going on?"

"We were discussing this before you got here, Angel." Gunn spoke up after a moment. "Apparently the Senior Partners used to think you could handle both jobs by yourself…"

"Except, now they're starting to think that it's too much for you to handle." Lorne added.

"We were trying to figure out a way to break the news to you. You've been under a lot of stress lately…" Fred smiled a little, ducking her head slightly. Angel sighed.

"Okay, so they think I can't handle being CEO without some trigger-happy partner? That's fine. But I still don't understand why the documents were sent to Wesley instead of me."

"I'm supposed to be in charge of directing and assisting the partner when he or she arrives." Wes said quietly. "The Senior Partners didn't think you would be able to handle that on top of everything else." Angel rubbed at his forehead in frustration, feeling a headache coming on.

"Right. So not only am I going to have to share my duties with some idiot with more aggression than sense, but the induction process is also being handed off to someone else? Brilliant." He sighed. "Well, fine. I can't exactly do anything about it." He turned to leave. "I've got some files to… look at." As he walked out, he became aware that the others were watching him closely. "I'm fine. Really." He told them, before making his exit. He sighed again when he heard the footsteps behind him, but tried his best to ignore the fact that his little team was following him back to his office.

When he pushed open both doors to his office and strode in, he was about ready to turn and tell them to go back to work, when he stopped short. Sat on the edge of his desk and flipping through one of _his_ files, was a young man. A young man he recognised. He saw his team walk in and stop around him, also focusing their gazes on the strange man perched on the desk. After a moment, Gunn cleared his throat, and the guy looked up from the file and smirked at them. Angel tensed and bit back a growl of anger.

"Spike? What the hell are you doing here?" He hissed.

"You know this man?" Fred asked, looking at Angel. He sighed as he met Spike's eyes, as blue as he remembered.

"Yeah. I know him."

_October 13, 2000_

"My bloody what?"

"Your tutor." Angel sighed. "I've been assigned to you." He eyed him up and down. "You… you _are_ William Pratt, aren't you?"

"Jeez, no one ever calls me that." He scoffed. "I'm Spike." He leant against the door frame, and pulled a crumpled packet of cigarettes from one pocket. "Come on in." He turned and walked back into the room, sticking an equally crumpled cigarette between his lips. After a moment's rummaging, he pulled out a lighter and flicked it open before lighting the cigarette. "What kind of poncy name is Angel, anyway?" His voice was distorted slightly due to the cigarette in his mouth.

"What kind of name is Spike?" Angel muttered in response, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. He picked his way through heaps of clothes, magazines, empty beer bottles and pizza boxes. Spike dropped down onto his bed, lying back, arms behind his head. He gestured for Angel to sit down. Angel looked around, spotted a chair beside the cluttered desk, and pulled it out. He brushed a pizza box from the seat and sat down. "You were informed I was coming, right?"

"Probably." He shrugged. "Didn't think they'd actually send someone." Angel kept glancing around the room, at the walls covered with posters of rock bands, and a few distasteful posters of half-naked women. The desk was cluttered with magazines and a pile of papers, all surrounding a laptop and decently sized stereo system. Several ashtrays were scattered around the room, and even more empty beer bottles lined the windowsill. He actually expected some of the pizza boxes to grow legs and walk away.

"So, ah… Spike." He cringed at the nickname. Was he seriously going to have to call this kid Spike all the time? "You understand the situation, right?"

"The fuckers in charge think I'm falling behind in my work, so they forced me to sign up for a tutoring program, and then send some poncy wanker like you to be my tutor." Spike sat up and scowled at him. "Three rules here, Peaches." Another cringe. Had Spike just called him 'Peaches'? "Rule number one, I don't need a damn tutor, I'm doing fine. So you can sit there in silence for all I care, just as long as you tell whoever needs to be told that you've been tutoring me to get them off my back. Rule number two, this is my room, my private space, so you will make no comments about the state of it, nor try to change anything. Rule number three, you don't talk to anyone other than me in this building, you don't mention you're a tutor, and you don't speak that damn poncy name of yours. Got it?"

"Okay." Angel nodded. Then he jumped up, grabbed Spike by the front of his shirt, and pinned him against the nearest wall. "Here's the thing, Captain Peroxide. I don't exactly like this situation either, but you know what? I don't have a choice. Some damn jury decided that instead of sending me to jail, I had to tutor some dumb brat who can't be bothered to actually do something with his life. That dumb brat happens to be you, Blondie, so you're just gonna have to get used to the fact that I'm going to be coming here every day for an hour, and you're gonna actually do some damn work, so your grades improve as proof that I'm actually doing what I'm supposed to. You may not like this scenario, neither do I, but that's what's happening, so stick that attitude up your ass and shut up." There was a tense silence as brown eyes glared directly into blue ones, and then Spike grinned.

"So what'd you do?"

"What?" Angel frowned.

"You got arrested, right? Trialled and sentenced. What'd you do?" With a frustrated growl, Angel let go of Spike and turned away.

"That's not important!" He hissed. "Now, according to what I was told, you're falling behind in all four subjects you're studying." He'd pulled another paper out of his pocket again, and was inspecting the details written on it. "English, History, Law," Angel turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "Law, really?" Spike just shrugged. "And Psychology." Now he stared at him, confused. "Why's a dumb dropout like you taking Psychology?"

"That's a bit judgemental, ain't it?" Spike smirked. "So, let me guess. You know nothing about those subjects? Pretty useless, aren't ya?"

"Wow, you really are a moron." Angel rolled his eyes. "Like they'd assign a tutor who didn't know anything about the subjects he was supposed to be tutoring." He glanced at the shelves above the desk and managed to pick out the names of a few books on Law, Psychology and History. A quick sweep of the floor located the books Spike was supposed to be using for English. "How can you find anything in this mess?"

"Oi. Rule number two, asshole!" Spike scowled. "And I ain't stupid. I'm a bottle blonde, idiot, not a natural one."

"Could have fooled me." Angel muttered. "Now. Down to business. I have some rules of my own. When I get here, you'll sit down and shut up, and actually listen to what I have to say. You won't give me any attitude, and you'll do what I damn well tell you. You will make sure I have a clean place to sit, and that there is a clean space big enough for us to work. You will spray some damn air freshener in here so it doesn't stink of cigarettes, and you'll clear away the pizza boxes that are threatening to evolve into living creatures." Angel looked him up and down again, slight disgust in his eyes. "And you'll take a damn shower before I get here." He stepped close to him, grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him up so their faces were close. "Understood, _William_?"

"Sure thing, Peaches." Spike smirked, apparently unfazed.

_October 12, 2010 _

"What are you doing here, Spike?" Angel repeated, glaring at the younger blonde. Spike smirked and hopped down off the desk, strolling over towards him. He stopped right in front of Angel and looked up into his face slightly, almost laughing when Angel took a step back away from him.

"Why do you think, Peaches?" He laughed. He stepped back and walked around the office. "Fancy little dig you got here. You know, I always did wonder where you'd run off to. Imagine my surprise when I hear that Angel is the CEO of a law firm. Not just any law firm, either, but Wolfram and bloody Hart."

"Who is he, Angel?" Fred whispered.

"Go on then Angel, tell them. You've worked it out, right?" Spike grinned. "You know why I'm here."

"Oh, no." Angel groaned. "Don't tell me that _you_ are-"

"Your new, spiffy, more attractive partner?" Spike grinned, lifting his eyebrows once in amusement. "Got it in one, Peaches." Spike hopped back onto the desk. "So. Gonna give me the guided tour?"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ So, that's the first chapter. First time publishing a Buffyverse fic, so naturally it had to be one of my favourites. Please leave a review on your way out if you like it (or even if you don't, criticism is absolutely fine!), and look out for more chapters soon!_


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